Scissors
by LilyBolt
Summary: "What a way to spend Christmas Eve, huh? Nothing says 'holiday spirit' like being fileted by an angry werewolf." . . . In which Sam needs stitches, and Dean notices something on his brother's back. Takes place between 8x10 and 8x11. Slightly AU. Not a slash fiction.


**WARNING: Spoilers through 8x10 "Torn and Frayed", but especially for 3x16 "No Rest For the Wicked", 5x16 "Dark Side of the Moon", and the first ten episodes of season 8.**

 **Author's Note: This is my slightly AU, slightly Christmas-y story. lol It's slightly AU because of two main reasons, which will be explained in the Secondary Author's Note at the end. ;) Anyway, this takes place sometime between 8x10 "Torn and Frayed" and 8x11 "LARP and the Real Girl". :)  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

"What a way to spend Christmas Eve, huh? Nothing says 'holiday spirit' like being fileted by an angry werewolf," Dean comments as he lifts the tattered remnants of the back of Sam's T-shirt.

"No kiddi- Ah!" Sam cuts himself off and draws in a quick breath as his brother peels back the shredded, bloodied cloth of his shirt from the claw marks that cut across the right side of his upper back. The material tugs at the still partially open wounds when Dean moves it, causing an unpleasant stinging sensation.

"Sorry," Sam hears Dean automatically apologize for the unavoidable discomfort he has just inflicted upon his sibling.

There is silence then because Dean has become occupied with assessing the level of damage to Sam's back, but after a sizable period of quiet, the elder man announces, "Well you definitely got carved up pretty good, but it's nothing some stitches can't solve. Strip off your shirt while I get the gear, ok?"

Sam nods and begins removing his ruined garment as quickly as possible to avoid prolonging the pain of the motion, while he hears his brother wander out of the motel where they are crashing to retrieve the necessary supplies from the Impala's trunk. A moment later Dean returns with several plastic containers of dental floss, a couple curved needles, and a bottle of bourbon.

It's a testament to his familiarity with such exotic medical treatments that Sam doesn't even flinch at the sight of the non-traditional stitching equipment. Instead he turns away from his brother to position himself with his chest against the back of the chair he sits in, giving Dean full access to the lacerations on his back.

"All I ask is that you actually warn me before you disinfect me with that liquor, alright?" Sam comments, half joking and half serious.

When Dean doesn't respond, Sam glances over his shoulder to find his older brother staring at his back, brow furrowed.

"Dean?" Sam inquires.

"When did you get that?" Dean asks, gesturing to Sam's back.

Suddenly Sam remembers the somewhat recent marking he acquired; one he had intentionally put there.

"Uh, earlier this year," Sam responds, trying to keep his tone neutral. After all the fights he and his brother have had in recent months over Sam's behavior while Dean was in Purgatory, the younger man isn't convinced that going into detail about his latest tattoo is a great idea. They've been doing better lately, especially since Sam chose not to meet with Amelia and Dean chose to cut ties with his vampire friend Benny, but that doesn't mean the ice they're on isn't still a little thin.

"Huh," is all Dean offers as a reply, and he is moving forward again, laying out his unconventional medicinal utensils and cracking the seal on the bottle of Jim Beam.

"Brace yourself," Dean warns, and Sam grits his teeth just in time for the burning trickle of hard liquor to wash over his open wounds. He hisses as the alcohol lights up his nerve endings, but after a few moments the pain dies down to a more tolerable level.

"Sorry," Dean says for the second time, then he adds, "Needle's coming in next. You ready?"

"Ready," Sam confirms, and the stitching begins. It's actually far less painful than the disinfecting process. Dean doesn't look the part, but he's surprisingly gentle when it comes to sewing up injuries. Especially his little brother's.

They don't speak for the first handful of stitches. Sam is content to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to distract Dean from the task at hand. Eventually though, Dean settles into a rhythm and becomes comfortable enough to strike up a conversation himself.

When this happens, he catches Sam off guard by asking, "So, why'd you get it? The tat, I mean."

Sam doesn't know how to answer for a minute as the memory of the night he got the tattoo rushes back to him…

 **OoO**

 _The bottle of Jack scraped against Sam's teeth as he clumsily brought it up to his mouth for another gulp of the bitter liquid._

 _He had been wandering the streets with nothing but the container of whiskey for company for at least the past hour. The Impala was still parked at the motel he was staying at; he hadn't been foolish enough to drive, considering he'd set out to get plastered that evening. Of course, he hadn't told his girlfriend that when he left their home the day before. Instead he'd fed Amelia some lie about visiting an old friend for the weekend. He wasn't sure she had believed him, but that was ok. She hadn't stopped him either, and that was what really mattered._

 _Because he had needed to get away for awhile, and he had needed to do so alone._

 _It had been January 23_ _rd_ _when he left, and Sam had found himself overwhelmed by a sudden realization that he couldn't bear to spend the following day- the 24_ _th_ _\- in the company of anyone except the one person he definitely couldn't be with._

 _At that though, Sam unconsciously lifted the bottle of Jack to his lips and swallowed hard._

 _By that point his head was swimming slightly, and as his gaze darted around the street where he had wound up, his eyes fell upon the glowing red 'open' sign of a tattoo parlor._

 _Like a moth to a flame, he drifted towards the window of the shop. The window was coated with examples of tattoos the place had turned out. In one picture, a burly, biker type showed off a full sleeve of flaming skulls. In another photo, a young woman proudly bared her neck, which had a floral necklace tattoo spread across it. A third image revealed a man's bicep decorated by a Colt revolver with a flaming banner wrapped around it's muzzle that read, "Fearless."  
_

 _Sam gazed at the images, his thoughts turning unbidden, but unsurprisingly, to his brother once more. He downed another swig of Jack and continued to stare at the pictures, a fuzzy idea blossoming in his mind._

 _Twenty minutes later, Sam was standing next to a long, black, cushioned tattoo table, while a woman with more ink than skin asked him, "Where do you want it?"_

" _On th' left side of m'upp'r back. Right ov'r th' heart," Sam slurred, pointing to a spot directly on top of his left shoulder blade._

 _Because Dean had always had his back, and would always be in his heart._

 _As soon as he thought that, Sam snickered, contemplating the way Dean would taunt him for thinking like such a sappy girl. "Save that crap for your diary, Samantha!" the elder Winchester might say._

 _Sam fell very quiet when he remembered Dean wouldn't ever poke fun at him like that again._

" _Alright. Lay on the table, chest-down," the tattoo artist said, and Sam followed her instructions. He collapsed onto the table more than anything else, and with the amount of alcohol running through his veins, he barely felt the bite of the needle as the woman began filling in the ink on the outline they had constructed._

 _When all was done,_ _Sam glanced over his shoulder at the reflection of his completed tattoo in a mirror the artist had handed him._

 _It was small and simple. Just two inches long and an inch wide, all black._

 _A silhouette of a pair of scissors._

 _Sam used to tease Dean about his predictability during nearly every round of Rock Paper Scissors they had played. From the time they were children long into their adulthood, it was a well-worn joke between them that Dean practically never switched that up. So much so that Sam had developed a suspicion the elder man was using that move on purpose half the time, especially in situations where a victory would really benefit Sam._

 _It would definitely fit Dean's M.O., wouldn't it? To make a personal sacrifice for his kid brother's sake? Just like he'd gone to Hell for Sam a few years earlier, and just like he had taken it upon himself to confront Dick Roman so that if anything went wrong, he'd bear the brunt of the suffering instead of Sam.  
_

 _And he had._

 _Sam lowered the mirror and mumbled a quick 'thanks' to the tattoo artist, then left the shop and stumbled back toward the motel to crash in a room with two twin beds, one of which remained painfully empty._

 **OoO**

Sam still can't find the right words to answer his brother. Dean continues the stitches, but the fact that he hasn't said anything else lets Sam know he is waiting for an answer.

Eventually the younger man gets out the words, "Well, I was drunk, for starters."

Dean lets out a hearty, "Ha!" before adding, "I never took you for the drunken-regrettable-tattoo type, Sammy, but I've gotta say I'm proud of you for finally living a little." He's still chuckling.

Sam can't stop himself from defending, "I don't regret it."

Dean quickly calms himself down and says, "Oh? Then you've gotta fill me in on the details, 'cause it seems pretty random to me."

Again, Sam struggles to begin to explain until he finally settles on, "It was your birthday, you were gone, and I found some booze and a tattoo parlor. Last time you weren't around like that, I had your- Uh…" Sam clears his throat briefly, avoiding mentioning the amulet Dean had thrown out years prior. He thinks the last thing Dean needs is to be reminded of other times Sam has let him down. After all, Dean had been quiet hurt to return from Purgatory only to find Sam hadn't looked for him during their year apart, and he hadn't exactly hid his disappointment. At last the younger man continues with, "Well, I just wanted something to... I don't know. To hang onto?"

Dean doesn't say anything in response to that. For a long while he just continues to work on the stitches, and Sam wonders if he's upset his brother with what he said. Was Dean angry to find out Sam had done something to honor him on his birthday when he should've been out searching for him instead?

"Do you think any tattoo place around here is open this late on Christmas Eve?" Dean abruptly inquires.

"Are you telling me I should try and get this one changed or something?" Sam tosses back warily.

"No, I'm saying I think I should get a rock tattoo. Or am I wrong in thinking you got that pair of scissors because of me?" Dean supplies. His tone is level, and Sam wishes he could turn around to look his brother in the eye. It's slightly harder to gauge Dean's mood from his voice alone.

"Uh… Not wrong, no," Sam awkwardly concedes.

"Of course, I'll have to get good and shitfaced too before I do something that sentimental, little sister," Dean says, this time with sarcasm clear in his voice, and Sam laughs. It's kind of a relief to be teased by Dean about his tattoo, considering Sam could distinctly recall being convinced he'd never even see his brother again when he first got it. Then Dean's tone softens a bit as he adds, "But I guess I wouldn't mind."

Sam smiles, picking up on Dean's sincerity loud and clear that time. "Well I suppose spending the rest of Christmas Eve in a tattoo shop would be just about as festive as these stitches," he points out.

It's Dean's turn to laugh again as he says, "Speaking of which, you're all put back together. One more splash of the good stuff and you'll be set. Brace yourself."

Sam hears the sound of a bottle cap being unscrewed and prepares for the impact. He hisses again as the liquor hits his stitches, but the pain isn't as intense this time.

"So are we doing this or what?" Dean asks, passing Sam a clean towel to wipe himself off with.

"Wait, you're not kidding about the rock thing?" Sam questions, surprised.

"Uh, no. I mean, only if you don't think it's too lame or anything," Dean backpedals, giving Sam an out if he wants it.

Standing up and moving toward his backpack, Sam states, "Just let me get dressed in some clean stuff first."

Because in this moment, even more than when he chose not to meet Amelia in that motel room, Sam feels certain he doesn't want an out at all.

* * *

 **Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This is classified as "slightly AU" because the time frame I placed it in is a month or two off from season 8's actual Christmas timeline. Also, because I'm pretty sure Sam doesn't really have a tattoo of a silhouette of scissors on his back. lol Anyway, if you have a moment, please leave feedback. It's always appreciated! And Happy Holidays to all! :D**


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